Reflections
by mabelreid
Summary: One Shot set this year. Reid finds an old box of keepsakes, and makes a startling decision.


**_Disclaimer: see my profile_**

 ** _A/n this is a one shot set this year. Please enjoy and Happy New Year to all my readers, my friends and my wonderful Beta, REIDFANATIC_**.

Spencer poured a mug of hot, fresh, and fantastic smelling coffee. This cup marked the first cup of the New Year. "Happy 2018," he said to his empty raised the mug, as if in a toast, and took a sip. He burned the tip of his tongue and cursed his over-eagerness to taste his favorite beverage. He carried the steaming cup to his sofa and lay down. He tucked in his long legs and rested his head on the arm of the couch.

It was 7:30 a.m. and he should be sleeping, Spencer thought as he lay there facing his coffee table and looking at his chess set across the room. Any self-respecting adult his age should be tucked away, and unaware of the hangover awaiting them after celebrating with their friends.

He shifted and lifted his head to take another sip of his cooling coffee. This time the liquid didn't burn his tongue. Instead, it reminded him that he didn't need the caffeine to call him out of sleep. He'd stayed awake until three in the morning, not because he wanted to ring in the New Year, but because he couldn't sleep.

Spencer sighed and got to his feet. It was of no use to try and coax sleep now. He decided to take a shower and then make breakfast. He wondered as he trudged to the bathroom if he had the makings for a meal, or if he'd have to go alone to IHOP or Denny's to eat. The thought of sitting alone in a place like that on New Year's Day made him shudder.

After a long, hot shower with an over-abundance of shower gel, Spencer stepped from the stall, toweled off and grabbed his old, ratty robe from the back of the door. He slipped it on and studied his reflection in the mirror.

"What are you looking for?"

Spencer wished he knew the answer to that question. He decided not to think about it and went to his room to dress. He pulled open his closet and looked for something to wear that wasn't a suit and tie, or a sweater vest. He found an old pair of jeans and a tee-shirt with a picture of the Enterprise on the front. He was about to turn away when his eyes found a box in the corner of the small room.

Spencer stared at it for a long moment, then sighed and pulled it toward the center of his bedroom. He crouched and sat with his back to the edge of his unmade bed. The flaps of the box were folded in, and he pulled them free to explore the contents.

"What are you doing?" Spencer asked himself as he lifted a laminated newspaper clipping from the top of the pile inside.

He paused, shook his head, put the article back in the box, then sat back on the bed. He looked at his window, which showed the sky brightening to the east and a hint of blue sky. The storm that had raged during the night was over, and he should rejoice. Instead, his eyes went back to the box and its contents.

Spencer reached for the clipping that told the story of the long-ago bombing in Boston, and the loss of six federal agents during the apprehension of Adrian Bale. He studied Gideon's photo and for the first time thought he understood the shock and anguish on his mentor's face.

Spencer set aside the laminated newspaper story and reached inside to find an old ticket stub saved from his ill-fated attempt at watching a professional football game. Even after twelve years, the sting of knowing he'd humiliated himself in front of JJ still hurt, although not as badly as when he'd left her house after dropping her at her door and saying goodbye. He still remembered the look in her eyes, the speculation, the irritation, and the sympathy for something she didn't understand. He'd never told anyone about what happened to him in high school until his confession to Morgan, but somehow JJ had known something terrible had happened to him. Even then her profiler instincts served her well even if she hadn't said the words.

Spencer put aside the ticket, and his hands found an old sweater. Faded bloodstains marked the material, and were nearly black with age. He touched them and remembered the coppery stench of Nathan Harris's blood on his hands. He hadn't thought of Nathan in years, and yet, somehow the uncertainty of saving him only to wonder if one day he'd kill, had never faded. He wondered where Nathan was and if he'd overcome his inner demons.

Inside the box, he located an object wrapped in an old paper towel. He unwrapped it and automatically let the hidden object fall to the carpeted floor. How he'd forgotten about it, was a mystery he didn't want to explore. He should've thrown it out years ago, and yet there it was. He stared at it for what seemed like hours but was in reality only seconds. His fingers closed over it, and he shuddered in the remembered sensation that threatened to overcome his will. He opened his fingers and studied the small bottle of Dilaudid in his hand.

"Why did you keep this?"

The bottle held no answers for him, so he wrapped it back into the paper towel and let it fall back into the box. John wouldn't like that he kept it, but then, thanks to Cat Adams and Lindsey Vaughn, his sobriety hung in tatters that he still tried to gather together into something coherent and whole.

Spencer sat back on the bed and closed his eyes. He tried to think of something other than the wreck of his life, thanks to the bad judgment which brought him into the trap set by an unstable mind. His thoughts skipped to his mother and the fact that he'd been forced, once again, to commit her. It didn't matter that she resided in a new institution in D.C. It didn't matter that he could see her whenever he wanted. It didn't matter that she no longer recognized him when he did visit. There was nothing he could do to change his reality.

He looked into the box and found a book on birdwatching that Gideon had left to him in his will. He didn't know why his old mentor left the book to him. It was a puzzle he couldn't put his mind to, not now because he didn't have the will or the energy.

The sunlight pouring into his room illuminated another interesting keepsake in the box. It was a quarter, inside a clear plastic container. He reached for it, opened the container and let the coin drop into his hand. It was cold as if it had resided in the recesses of his heart instead of inside the box. He began to make the coin dance across his knuckles and then disappear from one hand to the other. His skills with prestidigitation hadn't deteriorated in prison, which surprised him. Perhaps plotting revenge via poisoning sharpened a magician's skills? He shook his head and put the coin back in the container.

"You should spend it, or throw it away, or at the very least throw it into a fountain and make a wish."

Spencer knew the kind of wish he'd ask with that quarter. He'd ask for Maeve. After all, he'd had that quarter in his pocket on the day he'd first talked to her on the phone. If only - no, she was gone, and all the wishing wouldn't change that fact.

Spencer jumped when someone knocked on his door. He looked at his watch and realized it was ten o'clock. His stomach rumbled and his legs cramped as he tried to stand. He hurried to the door on unsteady and tingling legs as the person on the other side knocked again, this time impatiently.

"JJ," he squeaked. "Hi, Will," he greeted. "What's going on?"

"Uncle Spencer," Henry greeted him with a hug. "Mom said we could take you to brunch because it's a New Year."

"We hope you don't mind the surprise," JJ confessed, her cheeks pink from the cold. "The boys begged us."

"Yeah," Will put in. "The kids can be persuasive."

"Uncle Spencer eat with us," Michael said.

Spencer picked up Michael and hugged him tightly. "I can't say no," he said to Will. "I'm starved, actually," he admitted.

JJ smiled. "Good, then let's go. The boys have their hearts set on IHOP and pancakes."

"Yay," Henry cheered and made Spencer smile.

CMCMCMCMCMCMCM

JJ found Reid at his desk the next day. "Ready for another year of psychos and assorted sociopaths?"

"No," he said calmly, "I'm not."

JJ leaned her hip on the edge of his desk. "What's wrong, Spence?"

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I'm not sure how much longer I can do this, JJ."

The smile froze on her face and guilt churned in his gut, but he continued before she could respond to his last comment. "I only mean that I've been thinking about other things since I got out of prison. I admit that I like teaching." He smiled at her, and she smiled back, but with trepidation in her blue eyes.

"Spence…"

"When you and Will showed up with the kids at my door yesterday, I was sitting in my room looking through a box of – well I'm not sure what to call them because keepsakes aren't the right word. They're more like reminders of reasons why I should hand in my badge and walk away."

"Okay," JJ said slowly. "I understand why you feel that way but – "

Spencer held up a hand. "I'm not going to hand my resignation to Emily if that's what you fear. I'm only considering my options. I'm seriously thinking about moving to teaching full time."

"Wow. I never realized that you'd like teaching so well."

He grinned at her, and she chuckled. "You never cease to surprise me, Spence. Are you sure that's what you want to do."

"I only reviewed half the items in the box, and it was enough to make me think. After Gideon died, I told myself if anything else happened, that was it. Then Cat Adams crossed my path. She stole my sobriety and sent me to jail. She kidnapped my mother and threatened to kill her. Then there's Scratch. He took Stephen and almost took Hotch, Jack, and Emily. I just can't do it anymore, but neither can I leave the FBI altogether. That's why I'm going to talk to Emily and SC Cruz."

JJ held out her arms to him, and he hugged her. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Spence."

"Me too."

"Hey," Garcia said from behind them. "Why don't I get a hug?"

Spencer hugged her, and when he let her go, she surveyed him with narrowed eyes. "What?"

He looked at JJ, and she shrugged. "It's up to you."

Spencer turned to Garcia who flicked her eyes back and forth between her friends. "I'll tell you, but I want to tell the rest at the same time."

"You're leaving," tears filled her eyes. "Aren't you?"

"Penelope…"

"Why? No," she stopped herself and cleared her throat. "It's none of my business."

"You're my friend," Spencer reminded her. "It is your business. I need a change, Garcia. I can't walk through blood anymore."

"I know," she whispered as she wiped at the tears from her flushed cheeks. "You've been through hell, but –" She hugged him again. "I'm going to miss you."

"Hey, I'm not going today. I have to talk to Emily and find out if they need a full-time instructor."

"They better because you're the best, sweet cheeks."

He laughed at her enthusiasm. "Thank you."

"Come on," he gestured to them. "It's almost time for the daily briefing. I need to catch Emily before she meets with us. We'll talk later, guys."

Spencer watched them go up to the second level and head to the conference room. He looked around the bullpen and smiled at two agents who entered and went to their desks. They waved and greeted him. He sighed and looked at his messenger bag sitting on his desk as it had every work day for the last fourteen years. He squared his shoulders and hurried up the stairs and down the hallway to Emily's office. He stood for a minute, then knocked on the door. All things must end, he thought as he heeded Emily's urging to come in.

It was time.

 ** _THE END_**


End file.
